Opposites Attract
by justinebeckoning
Summary: A series of twenty vignettes loosely based on the idea of opposites. Slash.


**Fic:** Opposites Attract  
**Author:** justinebeckoning  
**Pairing:** Drake/Josh, with a bit of side Craig/Eric in a few of them.  
**Rating:** Ranging anywhere from PG to a hard R.  
**Disclaimer:** I'm not Dan Schneider, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night! Wait, even that's not true. shrugs Whatever.  
**Author's Note:** Where the heck did this come from? I was supposed to be finishing up "Playing By The Rules," wasn't I? (Update's coming for that very soon, I swear.) And then I was just supposed to be scribbling down a few leftover prompt ideas for future reference. But somehow this thing _took on a life of its own_, length-wise and conceptually, and here we are, a piece so massive it has to be split into two parts. You can consider this an informal companion piece to "Snapshots," or take it on its own. Either way, this is a series of twenty vignettes loosely based on the idea of opposites. Each pair of prompts is an antonymic pair, and each set of vignettes is meant to be contrasting in some general way (mood, length, style, etc.). They're funny, angsty, smutty, clever… a little bit of everything. Enjoy.

**slow.  
**Josh isn't sure how all this happened. He's pretty sure there had been a fight that had turned into a wrestling match on the couch, except somewhere along the line their mouths had taken over the work from their arms. And he's fairly certain that in the midst of the stunned stares there'd been an exchange about how stupid, so stupid, they'd been for not doing this sooner. But after that it had all melted into Drake—Drake's warm breath mixing with his, Drake's hands tugging at fistfuls of his hair, Drake and only Drake in everything as far as he can comprehend and still he wants more.

But when he undoes Drake's belt buckle and begins to tug at the zipper on his jeans, Drake pulls back, sinking down into the couch cushion. Behind glossed-over eyes is a mix of desire and hesitation, almost nerves.

"I, um. Do you think—" He trails off, and instantly Josh understands. He wants to tell him that he knows. That even something that's familiar and right can be new, overwhelming, even kind of scary, and it's okay. And that now that he's thinking straight again, he feels it too. But he doesn't have to.

Josh nods his head, sits up, grabs Drake's shirt off the floor, and hands it to him. As he watches Drake fix the buckle on his belt, he feels fear sneaking into him when he realizes he has no idea what happens next, but it fades when Drake moves beside him on the couch.

"What are we gonna do, brotha?" Drake asks, his voice barely above a whisper. This isn't the cocky Drake Parker who works his way through the checklist of the prettiest girls at Belleview High with finesse. This is the Drake that only Josh is allowed to see, the one he'd like to hold and protect and keep hidden from the world in his arms.

"Maybe… we should take this all a little bit slower." He tries to sound more confident than he feels. Drake leans against him, and that's the only okay that he needs. He puts his arm around Drake and tentatively places a kiss on his forehead.

And maybe, Josh realizes, he'd gotten it the wrong way around after all. Because maybe even the things that are the most overwhelming and scary can feel as right as if you've known them all your lives.

**quick.  
**It only takes four and a half minutes to reach the forty-fourth floor of the Spin City Records building, provided that there are no stops on the way up, but by the time they step out and into the lobby of Nick Matteo's office, they've already got Josh's jacket zipped up and Drake's running a hand through his hair to smooth it back down again. When the receptionist asks about the flushed look on Josh's face, they tell her it's because of his fear of elevators, but they sneak a smile to each other over the real reason once no one's looking.

**new.  
**They've endured the laughter for six months now. They've missed out on countless movies and done without Mountain Fizz for days on end in order to save money. But now, with the shiny new (and decidedly flower-less) car that's staring back at them in the driveway, it all seems entirely worth it.

"Y'know, I'm almost gonna miss that old Bug," Drake says. "I mean, it was so…"

"Cramped?" Josh offers.

"Eh, I was gonna say girly and ridiculous, but whatever." Then he winks and dangles the keyring on his finger in front of Josh. "So, brotha… wanna break her in?"

And from the devious glint in Drake's eyes, Josh is pretty sure he's planning on taking a spin around the block in more ways than one.

**old.  
**Drake sits on the living room floor, digging into yet another box without so much as a complaint. It's Josh who's supposed to get overly excited about lame stuff like this, but Drake knows when to sacrifice his coolness a little for special occasions, and he's pretty sure this qualifies.

It's theirs.

Their new apartment. Their new life together. The plates and cups Josh has carefully wrapped in newspaper are going to go in their very own kitchen, for when Josh cooks for just the two of them. And the sheets and pillows in the box that he just unpacked? Those are for their bed. _Their _bed—which Drake's going to be sure they spend a whole lot of time in, if he has his way.

That's not to say that he doesn't roll his eyes at some of the stuff he unpacks, like he's done with half of the stuff he's pulled out of this box. He doesn't care if it is their very own apartment—Josh's perfect attendance awards from elementary school are not going on display on the living room wall. And don't even get him started on the Oprah DVDs. When he pulls the photo album out of the bottom of the box, he's half-expecting it to be full of pictures of Oprah.

But it isn't. He flips open the cover and finds Mindy Crenshaw's face staring back at him—with Josh's next to hers, smiling.

The album's full of pictures of the two of them. Josh and Mindy, eyes wide, screaming their lungs out as they race down the first hill of the Demonator. Josh and Mindy posing in Mindy's backyard before prom, Craig and Eric smiling to one side of them and Drake and his date on the other. The last picture is of the two of them at graduation, Mindy holding the white cap in her hands as Josh wraps his arms around her waist, beaming. The handwritten message on the back cover is the kind of sappy stuff about new beginnings that he's sure made Josh cry when he read it. It makes him want to throw the album up against the wall, to watch the binding snap and see the pictures spill out everywhere, bent and damaged.

"Drake," Josh calls, coming into the living room with an armful of folded bath towels. "Have you seen my—" He stops when he sees the album in Drake's lap and sits down, cross-legged on the floor in front of him. He looks back and forth between the blue-and-green-striped book and the unreadable expression on Drake's face.

"She gave that to me right after graduation," Josh says. "About a month before we broke up." Drake knows that. Drake knows the reason they called it quits the second and final time is because of him. But it doesn't keep the doubts that creep into his mind sometimes when he's lying in bed from coming to the surface.

"Looks like she spent a lot of time making it." Drake thumbs the edge of a page.

"Yeah. It meant a lot to me." He exhales. "It still does," he says, and Drake thinks to himself, as much as it hurts, that Josh belongs with somebody like Mindy Crenshaw. Somebody who'll make him stupid sappy scrapbooks and make him smile like he does in those pictures. Somebody who's smart and dependable and knows how to win people over in ways that don't involve a wink and a charming smile. Not him.

Josh reaches up and lifts Drake's chin, running his thumb across his jawline. "Hey," he tells him, but inside the word is the _that doesn't mean you don't mean everything to me _that doesn't have to be spoken.

"Hey," Drake echoes, and he smiles, just a little. And they don't need any more words exchanged between them to know what the other's thinking. They never have.

**deep.  
**They're being swept away by a powerful current of something neither one of them fully understands with only each other to cling to for safety, but every time Drake smiles at him like there's no one else in the world he'd rather be beside, Josh's only thought is that if this is what swimming out into too-deep water feels like then he can't wait to drown.

**shallow.  
**Josh likes to think he isn't the superficial type… but then Drake wears _those_ jeans, the ones that barely cover his hips and hug close right _there_, and Josh tells himself it's okay to be shallow every once in a while.

**friend.**

Drake sits his guitar case down, looking around nervously. He still can't believe he's doing this. It's worth it for how he saved his reputation, but if anyone finds out about this, well, he'll hear a lot worse insults being thrown his way than "Twinkle Puff Parker." He sucks up his pride and peers into the dumpster.

"Craig?"

Craig pops up out of the dumpster, pushing pizza boxes out of his way as he does. "Dude, you got a little banana issue there," Drake says, gesturing to the banana peel that's on his head, dangling just above his left eye.

Craig scans the lot behind the cafeteria dramatically before leaning in close. "Did you… accomplish your mission, Agent Parker?" Seriously, Drake thinks, someone really needs to lay off the bad spy movies.

"Let's just say one more loser is on his way back to Planet Nerd," he says, grinning.

He's completely caught off guard when Craig throws his arms around him in a huge hug. "Thank you," Craig says, his face buried in Drake's shirt. "Thank you so much. I missed him so much." Half in shock and not quite sure what to do, Drake settles on patting Craig's shoulder (just barely, in order to avoid picking up too many nerd germs along the way).

When Craig pulls back, he's looking up at him with the most genuinely grateful smile Drake's ever seen, and… tears in his eyes? "Um, you're welcome?" Drake says. "I think." He knew Craig was a total dork, but crying because his little nerd friend had ditched him for a couple of days? Heck, Drake wouldn't be acting like this if one of his _girlfriends_ completely blew him off…

And then it hits him, and in all the time he's known Craig and Eric he can't believe he didn't realize it sooner.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Are you and—"

"Listen, Drake," Craig says, cutting him off. He brushes his cheek against his sleeve, trying to hide the fact that he still looks like he's going to cry. "This is the best thing anybody's ever done for me. It's just… you wouldn't understand. You're all popular and have tons of girlfriends and everything. You wouldn't know what it's like to have just one… friend, that means everything to you. To have somebody who's always there, like your other half or something." He looks embarrassed, like he wants to crawl back down into the dumpster and throw the half-full pizza boxes back over his head forever. "Somebody you really couldn't live without if they decided they didn't want you anymore."

For the second time, something occurs to Drake that he feels like he should've seen coming a long time ago. He puts a hand on Craig's shoulder. "No, man. Actually, I think I do understand." He thinks he understands in more ways than Craig would think. He just hasn't let himself see it until now.

Craig looks down at the guitar sitting on the ground by them, and Drake snaps back to reality, rolling his eyes to hide the smile that's creeping across his face. "Come on," he says, opening up the guitar case. "Let's get this over with before anyone hears."

**enemy.  
**Drake's got a bad habit of blaming everyone else when things go wrong around him. He does it without thinking when it comes to silly stuff, like blaming Josh for not setting the parking brake or telling everyone it was Eric who had started the rumor about Josh's third toe in his bellybutton. It's not like he means anything by it. It's just that in situations like those, he sees a way out and he jumps for it without thinking twice.

He blames other people for things he knows aren't entirely their fault, too. Like, sure, Mrs. Hayfer hates him and all, but it's not like he actually gives a hoot about English, or any other subject for that matter. And he's been known to blame his evil little sister for just about anything that goes wrong in his life (okay, maybe that's not such a good example after all, because it usually _is_ her fault). And then there are people like Mindy Crenshaw, who he's quick to blame for things he knows are entirely his fault. He shouldn't hate Mindy because Josh loves her, but it's so much easier than looking at the reasons why Josh doesn't love him.

It's times like those, when he looks too closely and puts the blame where it belongs, that his brain shuts off and he does something stupid and hurtful, almost out of instinct. Something that usually involves the nearest pretty girl who'll take his mind off of things for a while, if not nearly long enough.

Then he sees the shattered look in Josh's eyes and he has to face the truth. He's his own worst enemy. He's the only one to blame.

**famous.  
**Josh stands backstage, watching proudly as the crowd erupts at the final chords of the song. This is the largest audience Drake's played for yet, by far—hundreds, probably even more, and this time every one of them is here because of Drake and Drake alone. He's back in the wings and he still feels his heart rate surge with the excitement of it all, the spotlights swirling, the applause and stomps mixing with the last crashes from the drum kit and buzzing through the floor toward him. It's exhilarating. He can't even imagine what it's like from Drake's perspective, as he takes a final bow and waves out to his public.

As soon as he gets offstage, Drake runs at Josh and launches himself into a hug, not even bothering to sit down the guitar that's still slung over his shoulder. "Man! Can you believe it?" Drake's bobbing around the backstage area, bouncing like a little kid on too much sugar, and the just the sight of him so excited makes Josh swell with happiness of his own. "That was incredible!" He grabs Josh by the shoulders and kisses him excitedly on the cheek. "You're the best, brotha!" As he watches Drake high-fiving and celebrating with various stage crew members, Josh gets the uncanny sense that this, this is a defining moment. Josh has seen the ups and downs. He's been there for the gigs with ten people in the audience who were more interested in what the bartender could do for them, for the record label deadlines and the dry spells in inspiration, and now he can't shake the feeling that they've finally arrived at the verge of something big.

One of the roadies slaps Josh on the arm and grins. "Looks like somebody's a star," he says, gesturing out beyond the stage to the audience, which still hasn't quite settled down yet as they begin to mingle out.

Josh beams. It's hardly news to him. The rest of the world's just finding out what he's known all along.

**unknown.  
**There are so many things that the rest of the world can never know about. Glances across the dinner table that last two seconds too long. Hands slipped into one another in the safety of their room behind locked doors. Shouts muffled into bedsheets and the delicious friction of skin against skin. He's good at dealing with it for the most part but every now and then Josh lets the suffocating weight of it all get under his skin. He can't deal with hiding this much longer. He wants to shout it in the streets. He wants to grab Drake in the middle of the hallway at school one day and kiss him senseless, forget what the rest of the world thinks.

But he knows this is the only way they can even have a taste of something like this, in stolen moments and careful cover-ups. So he'll keep up the charade, for now—if the secrecy doesn't eat him alive along the way.

**blessing.  
**_Fuck._

The word is lost, half-mumbled and consumed in the midst of the quickening rhythm. All that remains is the buzz it leaves, a current of spoken electricity reverberating against sweat-slicked skin.

_Yes._

It's fitting that it comes out among a rush of air, a gasp that almost renders it incomprehensible. It's only an affirmation of what Drake's known all along. _Yes _this feels better than he ever thought it would and _yes _he wouldn't need air if could live off of Josh's kisses alone and _yes _this, Josh, is everything he could have wanted.

_Please._

He's desperate to fuse himself with Josh in any way he can, to touch, to taste, to have more. It's a plea that this won't ever end. It's a cry for satisfaction. It's a definitive summation as he loses himself more and more in _them_.

_Josh._

It's a sacred blessing, a sinful chant, and as he spills over the edge it's his only thought, the one word that can put him back together again.

**curse.  
**"Fuck."

Drake slams the bedroom door behind him and throws his blazer down in the middle of the floor. He hears the door open and close again, but ignores the approaching footsteps descending the stairs toward him. Not now. He doesn't want to fight now, he doesn't want to make up and talk things over. He doesn't want anything at all that involves Josh.

Josh moves toward him to put a hand on his arm, but Drake shifts away and turns toward the window. "Look, Drake, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Drake shouts. "Sorry?" He whirls around to face Josh. "Dude, do you have any idea how important that gig could've been?"

Josh looks like he's about to sink into the floor and disappear. "You heard all those demands the club owner was making. I—I was just trying to do what was best for your career," he pleads. "I mean, I'm your manager. I'm supposed to look out for you."

"Yeah, well you're doing a damn good job of it, aren't you." He pushes past Josh and slumps down on the couch. "We were opening for the Hailstones. The fucking _Hailstones_, Josh." He wants to release all this frustration, but the words only make him feel worse. "Some manager you are."

Josh hesitantly sits down on the couch beside him. "Listen… I'm really sorry. I mean it. You know that." Drake feels tears filling his closed eyelids and fights to keep them in, keep himself within this hardened shell of anger. He knows Josh can see right through it. He feels Josh's arm come to rest around his shoulder and lets himself sink down, not into Josh, just down with the weight of the whole evening. "I just—I don't want to see people take advantage of you. I care about you, Drake. I love you."

On any other night, he would've let himself get lost in Josh without a second thought, but tonight he just can't. He feels Josh tilt toward him but he turns away. He turns his face away to miss Josh's kiss. But he stays that way to shield himself from the pain he knows he'll find in Josh's face.

**knowledge.  
**"Drake?" Josh looks up at him from the couch and Drake already knows what's coming next. "Got anything yet?" Their English assignment for tomorrow is to write a page essay about something important or memorable they've learned since the beginning of the school year. It's a stupid assignment in the first place, and he's even less enthusiastic about it with the way Josh has been bugging him about it ever since Friday afternoon. But he's finally given in and scribbled down something just to shut Josh up.

"Yeah," he says, sitting his pencil down on the bed beside him. "Wanna see?"

Josh bounds over to the platform and grabs the notepad from Drake's outstretched hands. His happy expression fades into a scowl as he looks it over. "One sentence?"

"Just read it," Drake says. Josh huffs and turns his attention back to the paper. Drake sits back and watches Josh's face turn a shade of red he really didn't think was possible, and he starts to stammer and move his mouth at random times that don't match up to words.

When he finally regains the ability to speak, Josh spits out, "You're—you're not really going to turn that into Mrs. Hayfer, are you?"

"What? I think that qualifies as pretty darn memorable, don't you?" Josh smacks him across the arm, and Drake fights back a fit of laughter. "Come on, dude, of course I'm not going to turn it in."

"Good," Josh says, striding back over to get his laptop off of the couch, "because you didn't even spell 'tongue' right."

**ignorance.  
**Josh is on his way to third-period physics when he passes them in the hall.

"I know, he's just so dreamy," the brunette says, sighing. "And he's such an amazing singer."

"I've heard that's not _all_ Drake Parker is amazing at," the taller girl says, and the two of them erupt in giggles as they head over to their lockers.

Josh knows girls like those don't mean anything to Drake, that they never did and they definitely don't now, but he can't help but think that the old cliché is right, because this feeling in the pit of his stomach is about as far from bliss as he can imagine.

**dangerous.  
**Drake knows they're flirting with danger starting something like this, that he could lose his best friend or potentially even rip apart his whole family when he screws things up like he knows he will, eventually. But when he's lying with Josh's arms around him like this, exhausted, gasping for breath, and completely happy, he isn't afraid to take the risk.

**safe.  
**Drake Parker's never been one to play it safe, but even so, it takes Josh by complete surprise when he drags him out of study hall and shoves him up against his locker as soon as they're around the corner. He should be panicking about this, really panicking, but then again, the feel of Drake's lips against his is enough to dull his other senses pretty drastically. It takes him a minute to be able to focus on anything else but kissing back as furiously as he can, but when he does, the reality of what they're doing—and where—hits him full-force.

"Drake," he mumbles, not willing to _fully _pull his lips away just yet. "We shouldn't—this is bad."

Drake cocks his head back, smirking. "Josh, Josh. Haven't I taught you anything? Kissing is never bad." He turns his attention to Josh's jawline, forcing Josh to bite his lip in order to keep quiet.

"But we're—what if the principal—we can't just—"

Drake puts a finger up to his lips to silence his incoherent protests. "Don't talk. Just enjoy."

He knows it's a bad thing whenever he gives in to Drake's whims, and figures they're set to fall spectacularly this time, but when he feels Drake's hands sneak onto his hips he's yet again helpless to say no to him.

And then he hears it. The source of the noise doesn't register at first, but then he hears it coming at a steady pace and growing louder. "Footsteps," he whispers, pushing Drake out of the way and sending both of them splattering against the row of lockers just as Eric rounds the corner.

Josh fails miserably at looking nonchalant, his feet almost slipping out from underneath him, and his elbow jams uncomfortably into the handle of Drake's locker. Drake gives a weak wave as Eric eyes them skeptically. "Hey… Craig." He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it down. "What's up?"

"I'm Eric." His head is tilted back slightly and he's holding a tissue up to his nose. Josh figures he's on his way to the nurse's office. "Aren't you supposed to be in gym class?" He looks at Josh, confused. "And you—"

"Um, we were just—Drake was helping me find my, uh—"

"Socks?" Drake offers.

Josh shoots him an incredulous look. "Yes. Drake was helping me find my _socks_. Right." He glares at Drake, who just shrugs and nods his head feebly.

"Why would Josh's socks be in your locker?" Eric looks completely baffled now. He looks down over the crest of his tissue and examines Josh's sneakers. "And aren't you wearing socks right now?"

"What d'you know, looks like we found them." Josh laughs nervously and grabs Drake by the arm. "Come on, Drake," he says through gritted teeth, "we'd better get back to class." He ignores Drake's startled protest as he drags him off down the hallway and into safety, pulling both of them into safety in the nearby storage closet. He closes the door behind them and slumps to the ground against it, relieved and ready to explode.

"That was close."

"You think?" Josh quips. Even in the dim light he can see Drake's sheepish grin, and it should have him positively fuming. But then Drake sits down beside him and leans in close, and Josh already feels his resistance crumbling.

"So we still have some unfinished business, huh?"

This shouldn't surprise him, he thinks. Josh has known all along that he's helpless, and this time there's no use fighting the fall.

**truth.  
**They're in various states of undress, tangled together on Josh's bed, when Josh decides it's time. "Drake?" he asks, in between increasingly labored breaths.

"Hmm?" Drake mumbles into his neck. He's too far gone for it to be a real response, paying more attention to finding just the right spot on the curve of Josh's collarbone with his tongue. Josh shudders when he does and almost loses his train of thought, but forces himself to turn his attention back to the task at hand.

"You know that last leftover churro I had in the refrigerator?"

"Hhm. Nope." Drake's busying himself with getting Josh's jeans off and discarded on the floor alongside his own, and although Josh really can't complain about that he knows he's avoiding the subject.

"Funny," he says, trying to keep his voice as level as possible given their compromising position at the moment, "'cause I was going to eat it last night, but what d'you know, I couldn't find it." Drake moves lower, sliding Josh's boxers down, but Josh stays determined not to give in. "I wonder what happened to it."

"Dunno." Josh can feel Drake smirk against his chest and that's it. He flips himself over top of Drake, staring down at the other boy.

"You ate my churro, didn't you?"

"Of course not," Drake scoffs. His hands reach for Josh's hips, but Josh clasps his over them and presses Drake's arms down to the bed forcefully.

"You _ate_ my _churro_."

"Come on, dude, I told you I didn't." He struggles under Josh's grasp to no avail.

Josh stares down at him, his eyes intense and taunting. "Fine then," he says. He's going to win this. He's going to make Drake crack, whatever it takes.

Still pinning the smaller boy's arms to the bed, he crashes his lips into Drake's. When he runs his tongue across Drake's lower lip, it's an order, an unapologetic demand for entry, but Drake's not giving up so soon. Their kiss is heated, angry, determined, each unwavering in defending their claim with every gasp and flick of the tongue.

Drake thrusts his hips up against Josh's, attempting to gain friction. Josh lets him get in a few thrusts, but just when he feels Drake relax and ease into a rhythm, he arches his hips upward, just out of Drake's reach. Drake protests, but Josh shakes his head.

"Not until you tell me the truth," he growls, breathing against Drake's lips. Drake's beginning to weaken, still struggling against Josh's grip but hardly as violently as before. When he feels Josh release one of his arms and reach down to wrap his fist around him, he whimpers appreciatively. But Josh isn't going to let him have this so easily.

Josh strokes at a maddeningly slow pace, doing everything he can to delay release for as long as possible. His mouth works on Drake's earlobe, the one weakness of Drake's he knows never fails, as Drake arches up against his hand, begging for acceleration. He keeps his strokes long and slow, pulling back to watch as Drake crumbles more and more.

"Josh." Josh can see the beads of sweat forming on Drake's brow as he twists his face, his eyes closed. He's got him right where he wants him now. "Please."

"Then tell me you're the one who ate the churro." He adds a twist of the wrist, and Drake's eyes shoot open.

"Josh!"

"Admit it!"

"Okay!" Drake's free hand, the one that's not still pinned down by Josh, balls up around a fistful of sheets, trembling. "Fine!"

Having finally won, Josh immediately quickens his pace, and that's enough to push Drake over the top, calling out Josh's name as he comes.

When Drake opens his eyes, Josh is smirking down at him. "Next time? Just tell the truth, okay?"

Drake grins, his breath finally slowing. "Hey," he says mischievously. "Aren't I better than churros anyway?"

**lie.  
**"Boobs? Open up." Megan stands outside the bedroom door impatiently, hands on her hips. She knocks again. "You get ten more seconds and then I'm getting my lock-picking kit." Nine, eight, seven…

The door opens, revealing her brothers in equal states of panic and haste. After a moment of clambering back and forth amongst themselves, Josh leans against the doorway and clears his throat. "You knocked?"

"What were you doing in there?"

The boobs exchange nervous glances. "Studying?" Drake says, in a tone that sounds like even he doesn't believe it.

"For our chemistry exam tomorrow," Josh adds.

Megan eyes her brothers over—Drake's redder-than-normal complexion, Josh's half-tucked shirt and messy hair. Oh, please.

"Whatever." She sighs. "Mom wants you two to take out the garbage."

"Oh, and boob?" She stops halfway down the hallway, turning back. "Next time, button your shirt up right." She smirks at the horrified look on her brothers' faces as Josh looks down at his lopsided shirt. As she heads back to her room, she shudders to herself. She's _so _going to need therapy by the time she makes it out of this house.

**lost.  
**"Dude, I thought the campsite was right down the trail," Drake whines as he picks off a burr that's attached itself to his sneaker. He'd thought Josh had learned his lesson the first time he volunteered to help out with Megan's Campfire Kids troop, but no. Josh had just hadto chime in and tell Walter that they'd both be happy to chaperone this camping trip. And he just had to say they'd go back and start grilling hot dogs for dinner while Walter helped the kids earn their birdwatching badge, didn't he.

"It is," Josh says, frowning at the path in front of him. "Or it should be." He unfolds his map and looks down at the compass that's attached to the lanyard around his neck (along with a miniature pair of binoculars, a fan that squirts water, and a travel-size bottle of bug spray—because _of course_ his stepbrother would have to go all out with the geeky camping bling, wouldn't he). "I don't understand. This is the way we came, isn't it? So the campsite should be right…" He spins around, lining up the compass with the map, and comes face-to-face with Drake. "…here."

"Yeah, 'cause I look a whole lot like a bunch of tents," Drake snaps. His hair is a mess, he's sweating way more than he's sure he ever has in his entire life, and his legs hurt like hell from hiking uphill for the past five minutes. The last thing he needs right now is to find out that Josh has no idea where they are, but from the sheepish look on Josh's face, he's pretty sure that's exactly what's going on.

"Oh, man, no way. There is no way we're lost, Josh." Josh messes with the knobs on the binoculars to avoid looking him in the eye. "What if we get eaten by bears or something?" He tries to keep his voice at a normal volume, but it's a lost cause.

"Right, 'cause I'm sure there are wild bears at a place called Camp Rolling Meadows."

"Okay, your attitude? Not helping things." Drake folds his arms across his chest. "Come on, there has to be some way we can figure out where we are. There's gotta be some way to get help."

"Oh? And how do you suggest we find someone to help us? Use your shiny hair to signal airplanes?" Drake thinks it over for a minute, but when he looks at Josh's expression, he decides telling him that it wouldn't work because of all the trees probably isn't the best idea.

"Oh yeah?" Drake takes a step closer to Josh—perhaps a little too close, he thinks, feeling Josh's breath on his forehead. "We're lost and we're in the middle of nowhere. What else do you suggest we do, Mr. I've-got-a-whole-campground-around-my-neck?" He looks up at Josh, challenging him for a comeback, but instead Josh falters and cracks a smile.

"You know, you're kind of cute when you're angry." Drake thinks this whole whiny-and-bickering thing is going to be pretty hard to keep up if Josh doesn't get rid of the little smirk on his face. He brushes a patch of bangs out of Drake's eyes. "And sweaty."

"What are you suggesting, Josh Nichols?" He arches an eyebrow, trying to keep a stern look on his face.

"Well... we do need some way to keep ourselves occupied out here." He grins. Drake can't believe Josh is thinking thoughts like that at a time like this—but then again, he thinks to himself between kisses, he sure isn't complaining.

**found.  
**It's three in the morning and _The Blues Brothers_ comes on television, part of some movie marathon that they've been watching all night long. Drake is slumped against Josh on the couch, head on his shoulder, arm wrapped around his waist, snoring softly. Josh should wake him, he thinks, but he looks so peaceful and he selfishly doesn't want to ruin such a perfect sight.

It's been a whirlwind, all of this has. It hardly seems like real, all that they've been through since Drake Parker blew into his life so long ago. All that's brought them to this point, here on the couch with Drake in his arms. Sometimes, even all these years later, he still feels he's that awkward, overweight fifteen-year-old, eager to worship the charming kid who's finally going to be the brother he always wished for, with no idea how much more he'll end up becoming.

Drake shifts in his sleep, and Josh leans back further on the arm of the couch, bringing Drake down with him to lie across his chest. He kisses his forehead and closes his eyes, feeling sleep coming closer and closer. With a yawn, he chuckles, because the irony of it is that it isn't what he's found in all the time Drake's been a part of his life. Because, he tells himself, something can't be found that's been there all along.


End file.
